


Nausea & Numbness (and the Slim Possibility of Happiness)

by ckret2



Series: Red Sprite & the Golden Ones (Rodorah slowburn oneshots) [4]
Category: Godzilla (2014), Godzilla - All Media Types, Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: Godzilla has fallen; Mothra, standing protectively over him, is half-incinerated. There's nothing stopping Ghidorah from killing them both in one shot.Then he hears Rodan crying out in pain.And he's got to make a fast choice: finish this fight right here, right now, once and for all, and keep burning down this world and leave it as fast as possible... or yield so he can go save Rodan, one of the few things he's ever wanted to keep in his life.





	Nausea & Numbness (and the Slim Possibility of Happiness)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on Sept 30 on tumblr, written to the following prompts:
> 
> "How about, Rodan coming to help and when he got stabbed from Mothra? Their reactions perhaps? And if they did care for Rodan, going to him rather than fighting Godzilla?"
> 
> "A sliiiight redemption arc, if only slightly, where Ghidorah contemplates that maybe destroying planets into ash and rubble may not be what he wants and that endless destruction won’t bring him joy."
> 
> "What about Ghidorah being nice to Rodan for awhile simply because Rodan was so loyal to them from the start. Maybe Rodan got hurt and Ghidorah help him aid or rescue him.?????????"
> 
> And with this fic, we finally diverge from canon! Yaaay.

They could take out both of them in one shot.

Here they were, the little king crumpled to the ground, and the bug that just wouldn't die atop him with tattered wings. In one shot, they could incinerate her like she was nothing but a thin carpet of dry leaves and fry what was left of him. The bug had her wings raised like she was preparing to launch herself at their faces.

_Try it_, they would tell her if they were capable of understanding each other. _Try it, and see what happens to you both_. Perhaps she could tell what they were thinking. They hoped so.

Lightning prickled up their throats.

A weak cry drifted from across the city.

The lightning died in one of their throats. First whipped around to face the noise, wing dropping to clear the view.

_Where was their red sprite?_

They remembered him breaking off to distract the unkillable bug so they could focus on the little king. And they could see how the bug was battered and burned now; but she was still flying.

The red sprite had been willing to fight an alien that was triple his size, triple his weight, and triple his heads, _and_ carrying around their own hurricane, and didn’t stop until he physically could not fight anymore; he wouldn't have yielded to an _insect_. So what had happened to him?

It didn't matter what had happened to him! Focus! The enemy is right here!

First snapped to face forward as the bug flew at them, but they weren't prepared to incinerate her now. They raised a wing to block her, wincing when her stinger pierced the membrane. They didn't know what effect her venom had on the beasts of this planet; but it made them nauseous and clouded their thoughts. They flung her off and slammed her to the ground with their other wing so they could lean forward and snarl at her. The little king tried to get up, but his bellow was more of a wheeze, and he collapsed again. They could bite off the bug's head and turn next on the little king; _they could end this now_.

And still they hesitated.

What about—they weren't quite thinking clearly from the venom, the present danger slipping in and out of their minds and their thoughts sliding away—what about the red sprite? Where was he?

Second hissed. The red sprite had served his purpose and was unnecessary. The world was going to end—_soon_—and the red sprite was going to end with it. It was inevitable. They _couldn't_ get attached to him. They were going to lose him. They _had_ to lose him.

_But not so soon_. First's head sank lower, forehead pressing into the curl of their wing. (The bug stilled under the weight of his head; they were woozy enough not to realize that, this close to First's forehead, the little mindreader would have an even easier time than usual pricking into their thoughts.) Please—not so soon. Not now. In another month, they could lose him. In another _day_. But not now.

If not now—would they have the strength to later? They had to give up the red sprite. They had no other option. First had taught them that! It was abhorrent that he needed Second to remind him! If they tried to keep the red sprite, then when they _inevitably_ lost him, they would be miserable. They'd have to carry that misery forward with them, forever—

Well, what did _that_ matter, when_ they were miserable anyway_?

Two of their heads snapped up at the Third's thought. But he was right, wasn't he? World after world after world, they kept themselves apart from everything they saw, refused to let themselves enjoy it, refused to glory in it, simply because it would be gone eventually, and that would make them miserable. _They were miserable anyway!_ They were miserable because they didn't enjoy or glory in anything! They let themselves enjoy nothing except the _precise_ moment of destruction and triumph. Those moments _ended_, and they were left with _nothing_. So weren't they already always miserable? What different did it make, then, if they possessed the red sprite for a moment and then lost him?

They didn't know what difference it made. They didn't remember. The thought of _losing_ something seemed somehow so much more terrifying than the thought of simply _never having_ anything, but... but now, world after world after world of living like this, they didn't know what it was that made it terrifying. It just was.

It was terrifying because of the depth of the misery, perhaps— A misery they couldn't recover from. They knew they could live through their _current_ form of misery—the misery of nothingness—because they _had_ lived through it their whole lives. But the misery of having-and-then-losing was different. That one was unknown. They _didn’t know_ if they could survive it.

The little king had forced himself to his feet. The plates on his back glowed blue. They jerked back just soon enough to dodge a weak blast, and in the process let up the bug. No. They were going to finish this battle, finish this world, and _go_. As they always had and always would.

Go back into the yawning black abyss.

Go back to the void between stars, which swallowed them up like they were nothing.

Go back to ending alien world after alien world after world after world after world...

_For what?_ What were they going to get for it? If they kept the promise they'd made to each other an eon ago to never get attached to anyone or anything, who was going to give them a prize for good behavior? If they reduced enough worlds to ash were they suddenly going to become happy? How many more was it going to take?

The bug was struggling to get to her feet. The little king bellowed, charging again at them, jaw stretched open wide; they rose into the air, spun to slam their barbed tails into his face, dropped out of the air to land on him feet first while he was unsteady. They stumbled back as he fell again, fighting to still themselves so their nausea wouldn't get worse.

Wrathful joy rose in their throats as they saw him fall; then fizzled and faded again.

Third reminded them that that was the _only_ kind of joy they _ever_ felt. First turned to him and hissed, but quietly.

Didn't they know by now that if they kept living the way they always had then they were never going to be happy? If they were going to spend the rest of their eons miserable no matter what—couldn't they try to be _actually happy_ for just one millennium? A century? A _day?_ Maybe _one day_ of happiness would be worth it—because the alternative they were currently living wasn't worth anything.

_Why now, though?_ Second snarled at First—how many millions of possibilities for happiness, big and little and tantalizing and beautiful, had they passed up before now? Why did they deserve to have it now when they'd never deserved it before? _Why did First deserve that happiness when he'd forbidden Second and Third from following it?_

The red sprite keened again.

Nothing else mattered.

They slammed a foot on one of the bug's tattered wings and twisted, crushing it. Two heads bit at the little king, tearing gashes in his throat and abdomen, so roughly and carelessly that they lost a couple of fangs in his hard hide. All they had to do was slow the king and bug down. These two were already defeated, they'd finish them off later!

Tornadoes sprang up in the wake of their wings as they soared toward the red sprite's voice.

They loathed themselves for it. They loathed each other for it. But they could deal with that later, because the sight of their red sprite crumpled on the ground made their tails lash and the membrane of their wings prickle.

They landed, crouching on their wings, leaning over him to shield him from the rain with their body. He raised his head with difficulty, looking up at them. They knew so little about the people and creatures on this planet, and had put so little effort into trying to learn—they studied his face from three different angles and still couldn't tell if the way his expression was twisted was from pain or something else.

He tried to get up, supporting himself on trembling wings. For the first time, they saw the glowing gash in his chest, and hissed. Oh, they should have ripped that stinger off the bug when they had the chance. What had her venom done to him? First ducked toward the wound, hesitated, drew back. Third completed the motion instead, leaning forward to sniff the hot edges of the wound, and then to press his forehead directly over it, trying to measure how much it hurt. The red sprite chirped weakly.

The pain was weak. The red sprite felt numb, his body unresponsive. His numbness counteracted their own nausea and started clearing their thoughts. Was that what the bug's venom did to creatures on this world? Paralysis? They preferred the nausea.

They were glad he wasn't suffering, but the numbness meant he might not be able to feel his own injuries. Third pulled back and they stretched their heads out, looking over him from all sides, searching for any further signs of damage.

All they could see was wings and a beak and jagged stone skin and wild unreadable alien eyes. From a distance his shape looked so much like a parody of their own species, but up close...

Did they still want to keep him? Seeing like this how strange he was? Knowing they might never understand each other? Knowing he might not be something that _could_ be kept?

The warm rain beating on their back felt cold compared to the heat the red sprite was radiating. Each time he shifted his head, trying to see all of their faces at once, knots tied and untied in their throats. They thought of how viciously, courageously he'd fought against them, how he'd bowed to them, how he'd followed them into battle. Yes. They wanted him. This precious, fierce little warrior.

They tensed at a cracking sound, and Second whipped around to look in the direction they'd come from. The little king, with the bug clinging to his back, was crushing half-fallen buildings under him as he trudged closer. They curled their wings protectively around their red sprite; then uncurled again and stepped away to stand between him and the little king. They spread their wings wide, tails raised and rattling, hissing.

The little king hesitated for a moment, but then let out a hoarse roar. Fine. They lowered their heads, preparing to strike. If he didn't know when to stay down and take an undeserved mercy...

The bug butted her head on the little king's jowl, pricking one of her scythe-like legs in the crevasses of his neck armor. Oh, they hated that little bug. She was too much like them in a way that _wasn't_ appealing—her mind could touch other minds, like theirs could—they'd felt her brushing up at the edges of their minds before, even from a distance. They feared that she was better at it than they were; they were far weaker at it than they used to be. They wondered what she was slipping now into the little king's mind.

His head jerked down, looking toward their feet under their wings. They crouched, trying harder to block their red sprite. This time, their hisses crackled with the threat of lightning. Of course the bug knew what they were trying to protect; she'd put the glowing wound in his chest. What were she and her thrall thinking now? Did they want to take out the red sprite while he was weak? Did the bug think her little king would stand a better chance against them if they had one less ally? Did she just want to spite them before dying? If either of them even _tried_ to move toward their red sprite...

But they didn't.

The little king stared at the bottom of their wings, like he thought he could still see the red sprite behind them; and then looked up to stare in their faces. Stupid animal. What was it that he wanted? They couldn't read his eyes, couldn't read his face. There was no chance that they could focus well enough or get close enough to read his emotions. What was he going to do?

He widened his stance. They prepared themselves for an attack.

He lifted his head and roared at the sky.

They froze.

They recognized that roar—that specific, high, carrying roar. He'd made it to them, only once, a very long time ago, when they'd been new to this world and he hadn't known what to expect of them and they hadn't yet known what he was trying to convey. They'd heard him make it countless times to the other creatures of this world, as they argued or sparred or tried to kill each other. They didn't know what it _said_, but they knew what it meant. It meant, _yield now, and the battle is over_. It meant, _I will spare you if you acknowledge me the winner_.

Who did this insignificant brat think he was? How _dare_ he?!

Second lunged for the little king's face.

First lunged for Second's throat.

Second screamed, as much from shock as pain, and Third echoed it. First spat and dragged his tongue on the ground to get rid of the taste of his own scales.

Snarling, the little king lurched forward; but the bug butted his head again, and he settled back, waiting.

No. Stop. They could kill the little king later. Eventually, this world would burn, and no one in the galaxy would know of their humiliation. But they could kill the little king at _any_ time. If they tried _now_, it would only take one stray attack to kill the red sprite. They only had this one chance to save him.

Awkward, off-balance, they tried to copy the gesture their red sprite had performed when he'd bowed to them at the base of his own volcano. They bent forward, trying to contort their wings to stretch out to the sides and lie horizontal over the ground at the same time. Their tails stretched behind them over the red sprite in a futile attempt to maintain their center of balance. They had to pull their heads close to their chest to keep from losing their balance and toppling forward, necks arched up painfully—but even though it would be easier to hang their heads upside-down and stare at the ground, they never looked down. They all glared up at the little king.

They yielded. But only this time.

The little king looked down at them, snorted, and roared. Weak blue lights ran up his back plates, but none came from his mouth; it was just to remind them that he could. His victory was confirmed. The battle was over.

He turned away, already trudging tiredly toward the ocean. The bug picked her way over his back plates to turn and watch them as he retreated.

They lost their balance and landed on their knees. Their wings flopped to the ground, followed by Third's head.

Surrender.

They'd surrendered.

They hadn't surrendered since...

(Eons-old memories floated like pale ghosts up and down their spines: cages and airless moons and commands inserted in their heads that they could not refuse to obey.)

They felt nauseous again. Nauseous and furious. Second ground his forehead and nose into the rubble to try to muffle a scream of frustration.

But the red sprite hopped stiffly around in front of them, surveyed the two heads on the ground, then looked up at First and chirped.

First looked back at him tiredly. They wondered when the happiness would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/185948695967/nausea-numbness-and-the-slim-possibility-of).


End file.
